


I'm Ready Now

by countmeaway



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 18:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11742444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countmeaway/pseuds/countmeaway
Summary: ”He lied,” Dean says, staring down at the bench, digging his thumbnail into a worn in groove. “Tried. I tried. I wanted. S’too late.”Post August 7 episode of RAW.





	I'm Ready Now

**Author's Note:**

> I just had a lot of feels I needed to get out after RAW tonight. Self-indulgence at its finest.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knows he shouldn’t have, but he wanted—he wanted so fucking badly to believe that Seth meant what he was saying, that Seth wanted them to move forward, to forget about the past, to be _them_  again. But he wasn’t ready then, wasn’t ready when Seth held out his fist, begging with his eyes for Dean to forgive him, to let them move forward.  
  
There was still too much brewing inside him, all those emotions dragged to the forefront like it was just yesterday that it happened, not three years ago, the hurt and pain and heartbreak fresh and raw, like the cold metal of the steel chair rammed into his gut, slammed against his back.  
  
He thought Seth’s apology would help soothe the pain, always pain, so much fucking pain, even all these years later, but it didn’t, it didn’t help at all, and Dean hates it, hates it so much, wanted so badly for the apology to at least begin to fix things, but Seth didn’t just break up their brotherhood, Seth broke them, their relationship, fractured them down the middle, left a hole in Dean’s heart that’s still festering, that still keeps him up at night, wishing things were different, missing the heat of Seth’s body in the bed next to him.  
  
But as much as he wants to forgive and move on, he can’t. He can’t because Seth betrayed his trust, betrayed his love, and Dean doesn’t know how to move on from that, doesn’t know how to recover from that. Time’s supposed to heal all wounds, right? Yeah, Dean’s learned that that’s a goddamn lie.  
  
Seth turned his back on Dean once, when Dean was at his most vulnerable, flayed open each and every night for Seth, when Seth would treat Dean like he was something precious, something to be cherished, before Seth tried ending his life by curb stomping him through cinderblocks, and Dean can’t—how does he move on from that?  
  
There’s never been a day where Dean hasn’t loved Seth. Even when Seth was battering him and Roman with the steel chair, even when Seth was trying to put his head through cinderblocks, even when Dean tried to make Seth’s life a living hell, and especially when Seth blew out his knee, there hasn’t been a single day where Dean’s heart didn’t belong to Seth, as broken as it’s been since the cold steel bruised his skin.  
  
But he tries, he tries to move on, tries to believe in Seth, tries to believe that they can make it work, but he said, he fucking told Seth, that he wasn’t going to bail him out again, that he needed to stop biting off more than he could chew, but what did that idiot do? He went and got himself into trouble, _again_ , and expected Dean to bail him out, _again_.  
  
Dean wanted to. God, did he want to. Every fiber of his being was aching to go out there, to teach Sheamus and Cesaro a lesson, but Seth needs to understand he’s a man of his word. He always has been, and Seth should fucking know that by now. How long have they known each other? How can Seth not know this? Or did Seth think that because he apologized, that because he’s trying to make everything right, that Dean would instantly drop everything for him like he used to, regardless of what he said?  
  
Seth coming out to help him had him believing for a second that Seth had changed, that he did mean what he said, and it took everything in him to put his hand out, his heart beating harder in his chest than it had during the entire match, but then Seth looked at him in disgust, shook his head and walked away, and it felt like Dean’s heart shriveled a little more, unable to control any of his emotions, knew that what he was feeling was written on his face, plain as day.  
  
Seth was just playing with him, again. Giving Dean false hope only to take it away when Dean was ready to start moving forward with him. He’ll never be able to trust Seth again, not anymore, and it burns like a fire deep in his gut, makes him want to scream and cry and lash out and hit something, anything, and it’s where Roman catches him, throwing his fists in a rapid flurry against the wall of the locker room, smears of red covering the white paint.  
  
”Stop,” Roman says, an arm around Dean’s waist. Dean struggles out of Roman’s hold, keeps battering his fists against the wall, needing to feel something other than the pain in his chest, a vice grip around his heart making it almost impossible to breathe. “Dean, c’mon, man.”  
  
Dean shakes his head, throws another right and left, until Roman lifts him bodily, hauling him off to a bench and depositing him there.  
  
”What’s gotten into you, man?” Roman asks, and all Dean can do is shake his head again. Roman should know. Roman should know that the only one who can get him this twisted up is Seth. Since he met Roman back in FCW, when he and Seth were hate-fucking, when he was trying to deny what he actually felt for Seth, it’s only ever been Seth that’s had the ability to get him this fucked up.  
  
”He lied,” Dean says, staring down at the bench, digging his thumbnail into a worn in groove. “Tried. I tried. I wanted. S’too late.” He shrugs, tries to ignore the ache in his throat, the wobble in his voice.  
  
Roman puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and it should feel comforting, the way it always has, Roman the brother he always wanted, but it feels wrong, like he doesn’t deserve the comfort, doesn’t deserve any of it when he fucked up so monumentally, made Seth wait too long that Seth finally decided fuck it, he didn’t need this shit anymore, that Dean could keep holding onto his grudges for however long he wanted to because he was just done trying to make things right.  
  
”C’mon, Dean, you know how Seth is when he doesn’t get his way right away.” Roman squeezes his shoulder, one, two, three seconds before he lets it go. “Just—give him another chance, Dean. He’s serious this time.”  
  
”Who’s side are you on?” Dean asks, looking up at Roman sharply. Roman’s supposed to be his best friend, his brother. Roman’s supposed to be on his side.  
  
Roman raises an eyebrow at him in response. “Boy, don’t be dumb. You know I’m always gonna be on your side, even when you’re wrong. And this time, you are wrong.”  
  
”How am I wrong, huh?” Dean pushes off the bench, pacing back and forth. “He left me there, in the middle of the ring, looking like a dumbass with my fist held out, lookin’ at me like he couldn’t believe I actually fell for the shit he was sayin’.”  
  
”Remember when he walked away from us during that match with the Wyatts so we’d stop arguin’ and get on the same page?”  
  
How could Dean forget? That’s when he first started to feel it, started to feel that Seth was slipping away from him, only to get confirmation a few months later when Seth took a chair to his back, drove it through his heart.  
  
Dean levels Roman with his best _thanks for fuckin’ bringin’ that up, dick_. “You mean a few months before he turned on us?”  
  
Roman shakes his head. “He walked out because he was trying to make a point, and that’s what he’s doin’ now, Dean. As much as he’s a man of words, he’s also a man of action. Your boy’s mad because you made him wait, because you didn’t go out to help him the way he went out to help you.”  
  
”No,” Dean says, refusing to even hope that Roman’s right. Why let himself believe something again, only to fall flat on his face when the floor’s pulled out from beneath him?  
  
Roman sighs, shrugs. “Just talk to him, man. Hear him out. I gotta go get ready for my match.”  
  
Dean nods distractedly, chewing on his thumbnail. He doesn’t—he doesn’t think he could even face Seth right now, not without breaking and blubbering like an idiot, and that’s not something Seth needs to see, not something Seth deserves to see. He doesn’t deserve to see Dean at his most vulnerable, not anymore, not ever again. He turned his back on Dean one too many times, and Dean’s not going to let it happen again. He was a fucking idiot for thinking Seth had ever changed, for offering him that sacred fist bump in the first place, only to be left hanging.  
  
That’s his cross to bear, he supposes, being stupidly in love with Seth despite all the things he’s done, all the lies he’s told.  
  
\--  
  
Dean’s just gotten to the airport, waiting at the gate for his flight back to Vegas to start boarding, when his phone starts going haywire in his back pocket, a series of buzzes that seems to be never-ending.  
  
The screen is lit up with text notifications, all from a number Dean would know anywhere. It may have been years since Dean deleted Seth’s contact information from his phone, but the ten digits have been imprinted in his mind since the minute Seth gave them to him back in FCW.  
  
Another handful of messages arrive before Dean can even get the screen unlocked, vibrating in his hands every few seconds before he can navigate to the messaging app. It feels like time stops as his thumb hovers over Seth’s message thread, and he lets out a whoosh of breath as he taps on it, scrolling to the top and reading through them.  
  
_> >Can we talk?_  
 _ >>please?_  
 _ >>Dean?_  
 _ >>c’mon, please?_  
 _ >>I’m sorry_  
 _ >>just_  
 _ >>call me?_  
 _ >>Dean_  
 _ >>I didn’t mean to do that_  
 _ >>I wasn’t lying when I said I wanna move forward_  
 _> >I do _  
_ >>please _  
_> >I want us to be like we were before_  
 _ >>More than anything_  
 _ >>I miss you, Dean_  
 _ >>I’m sorry_  
 _ >>please._  
__  
__ Dean exits the messaging app, locking the screen before sliding it back into his pocket. He blows out a slow breath, trying to stop the hammering of his heart. It’s too late to go back now, and Seth should know that. If he didn’t mean to do that, he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have done what amounted to a toddler throwing a tantrum because they didn’t get their way.  
  
Dean’s not—he isn’t going to put himself out there again. He can’t. He doesn’t think he’d survive it. He barely feels like he’s surviving now, rejection and regret thick on his tongue, nausea rolling like waves in his stomach.  
  
He hefts his carry-on over his shoulder when his flight is called for boarding, and turns his phone off before he settles into his seat. He can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to be in the safe solitude of his house, away from everyone and everything for a few days. He needs to decompress, needs some time out in the desert, nothing but him and nature to soothe the jagged edges of his emotions, albeit temporarily.  
  
But when he gets home, slipping the keys from the ignition and tucking them into the front pocket of his jeans, solitude away from everyone and everything apparently isn’t going to be happening.  
  
”How the hell did you get here before me?”  
  
”Paid a shitload of money to get a direct flight from Toronto to Vegas,” Seth says with a shrug of his shoulders, the movement barely visible with the way he’s hunched in on himself, sitting on the only step there is to get into Dean’s house.  
  
”Why?” Dean asks, walking backwards to get to the trunk so he can grab out his luggage. He shoulders the carry-on bag, wraps the handles of the duffelbag around one hand, and pulls the rolling suitcase behind him up the walkway.  
  
”I wanted to talk to you,” Seth says, “and you weren’t answering my texts.”  
  
”Still can’t take a hint, can you?” Dean doesn’t mean for it to come out as confrontational as it does, but he’s tired. He’s tired and he wants to sleep for a week and pretend the last twelve hours didn’t happen, but Seth being here means he can’t do that.  
  
”Not when it’s something I want, no,” Seth says, easy as anything. He stands and steps to the side, and Dean squeezes by, careful not to hit Seth with any of his bags as he unlocks the door, holding it open and motioning for Seth to follow, trying not to sigh too loudly.  
  
Seth comes in, pulling his own luggage behind him, setting it next to Dean’s like he did so many times so many years ago, when they’d leave it in the foyer in their haste to get up to the bedroom.  
  
Dean moves around, trying to ignore Seth’s presence, but it’s hard when Seth’s following him, barely a foot of space between them as Dean wanders through his house, flipping on lights and turning on the tv for some background noise.  
  
Seth’s hand on his back startles him, makes goosebumps erupt over his skin, his heart a battering ram against his ribs. “Can you just sit so we can talk?” he asks, quiet and hushed.  
  
Dean swallows roughly and nods, turns and heads back into the living room, Seth following right beside him. He doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to hear anymore of Seth’s lies, doesn’t want Seth to be in his goddamn house, but Seth’s so fucking determined, went out of his way to show up here, and he can do this, he can listen to him, right? He’s Dean fuckin’ Ambrose. He can do anything.  
  
Seth settles onto the sofa right beside him, too close for Dean’s comfort, but Dean doesn’t say anything, holds himself as still as he can, trying to keep his breathing slow and even.  
  
”I didn’t think you were serious, last week,” Seth starts, drawing Dean’s eyes to him. He’s looking down at the floor, shoulders once again hunched in, and Dean’s never seen Seth like this, has never seen Seth so withdrawn, so stuck in his own head. It’s scary and exhilarating, seeing a new facet of Seth when he thought he knew them all. “But I didn’t—I didn’t purposely try to get Sheamus and Cesaro to kick my ass this time. But I thought, I thought maybe you’d still come out anyway, that you’d be my knight in shining armor again. But you didn’t. You weren’t. You left me there by myself.  
  
”But I still—when you needed me, even if you didn’t think you needed me, I was there. No second thoughts, no questions, I fuckin’ flew out to that ring, man, and I took care of them, I did, for you, and it made me so fuckin’ mad that you wanted to bury the hatchet then, that you decided to move on then, when you left me alone earlier. I shouldn’t have—I shouldn’t have walked away, but if I hadn’t, I probably would’ve ended up taking you out, too.”  
  
”You should know me by now, Seth. You should know that when I say something, I’m gonna do it. Haven’t I always been a man of my word? Haven’t I always done what I said I was gonna do?” Dean shakes his head. How is he having to explain this to Seth, all these years later?  
  
”Not when it came to me,” Seth says softly, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. “Whenever I needed you, even if you told me you weren’t gonna bail my ass out, you did. You always did. And I thought—I thought you would again. But you didn’t, Dean. You didn’t, and that hurt.”  
  
Dean couldn’t look away from Seth right now if he tried. But he doesn’t want to, is surprised to find that he doesn’t want to. Seth is baring himself to Dean, peeling back all the layers, letting Dean in to see who he is inside after all these years apart.  
  
”I wanted to make you hurt, too,” Seth admits, shrugging half-heartedly.  
  
All Seth’s done is make him hurt. The last three years, all he’s done is hurt, by Seth’s words, Seth’s actions.  
  
”All you’ve done is make me hurt, Seth,” Dean says softly, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You think I stopped lovin’ you after you left me, after you betrayed us? You think I stopped lovin’ you when you put my head through cinderblocks? You think I ever stopped wishin’ this was all a nightmare and I’d wake up to find you layin’ in bed next to me? Every damn day, Seth, every damn day I wished it was a nightmare. Every damn day I wished I’d wake up to you in bed next to me. You wanna talk about hurt? I loved you every minute of every day, Seth, no matter what you did to me, no matter what you said about me. You didn’t have to make me hurt, Seth, because I already did. I always do.”  
  
Seth’s blinking rapidly, scrubbing at his eyes before he wraps his arms around his midsection. Dean feels raw, too raw, exposed in a way he isn’t comfortable with anymore, especially not in front of Seth, but it’s cathartic, getting it all out there, telling Seth everything he needs to know, everything Dean’s been bottling up for years and years, things that Roman doesn’t even know.  
  
”I’m sorry,” Seth croaks out, shaking his head, hugging himself tighter. “I’m sorry, Dean, I’m so sorry.”  
  
This—this feels real, this feels like Seth means it, more than he meant it when he was screaming in Dean’s face in front of a camera, in front of thousands and millions of fans. Here, in the quiet of Dean’s home, Seth barely holding himself together on the sofa Seth helped Dean pick out, it feels like moving forward.  
  
Dean pulls Seth in against him, wraps one arm around Seth as tight as he can, cradling the back of Seth’s head with the other. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m sorry, Seth, I’m sorry,” pressing kisses to the side of Seth’s head, over and over until he’s choking the words out past the lump in his throat, shaking against Seth as all the weight of anger and hurt leaves his body. “Never stopped lovin’ you, Seth, never. Couldn’t—couldn’t bear the thought of you leavin’ me again, of you turnin’ your back on me and decidin’ that your career was more important than us. But I never stopped lovin’ you. Never.”  
  
Seth’s trembling in his hold, hand clenched tight in Dean’s shirt, wet seeping in on his t-shirt where Seth’s tears are landing. It takes a few minutes for Dean to calm down, for Seth’s trembling to peter out, and when it does, he looks up at Dean with eyes that are still wet, but brilliant all the same.  
  
“I never stopped loving you, either, Dean,” Seth says, grabbing Dean’s hand and holding it loosely, brushing his thumb back and forth over the bumps of Dean’s knuckles. “I hated myself for what I did, for what I put you through. I couldn’t stand to look at myself, and I hated Stephanie and Triple H for everything they made me do. Blowing my knee out sucked, but it also got me out from being under their thumb every second of every day, and I could finally breathe and start being me again, and I could finally find my way back to you, where I belonged, where I always should have been.”  
  
”I hated what they turned you into,” Dean says, tucking Seth in against his side. “I loved you, and I hated myself for it. I wanted to hate you so fuckin’ bad, Seth. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t. Every time I tried, I couldn’t. I just wanted to take you back and knock some sense into you, make you see what they were doin’ to you. I don’t do things halfway, Seth. I never have. Lovin’ you, for me, has always been a forever deal. I couldn’t just stop. I’ll never be able to stop. And maybe that makes me a little fucked up, but I just don’t care.”  
  
”That’s how it’s been for me, too, Dean, and they knew that. They knew, and they used it against me. Tested my loyalty to them, tested me to make sure I was worthy of being the champion in their eyes, by taking you out, by doing whatever I could to beat you down,” Seth explains, anger palpable in his voice, visible in the set of his jaw. “And I thought—I didn’t think you’d ever want me back after I did what I did, so I followed their orders like a good fucking puppet.”  
  
Dean doesn’t really know what to say to that. The Authority has always been manipulative, has always taken someone’s weakness and used it against them to turn them into whatever they wanted. It’s how they operate, how they get what they want, and Seth, Seth fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.  
  
”But I got out,” Seth says, full of satisfaction. “Yeah, my knee got fucked up, and I was out for months, but I got out, I got away from them. They don’t control me now. They don’t own me now. Hell, they’re nowhere to be seen. And it feels so fuckin’ good to be me again, not their goddamn puppet.”  
  
”You ever, and I mean ever, try to pull some shit like that again, there ain’t gonna be any forgivin’ you, you get me? I don’t—” Dean pauses, swallows roughly as he tries to choke back the emotion “—I don’t have it in me to survive somethin’ like that again. Losin’ you once almost killed me. Losin’ you again? It probably would kill me. So you can’t—you can’t fuckin’ leave, Seth.”  
  
Seth looks Dean straight in the eye, hands cradling both sides of Dean’s face. “I’m not. I won’t. I swear to you, right now, Dean, that I’m not goin’ anywhere. Not ever again. Bein’ away from you for so long was like living without half of me. I can’t, I can’t go through that again. I won’t do that to myself, or to you, again.”  
  
Dean believes him, feels the truth of it in the way Seth’s clinging to him, the absolute sincerity in his voice, and he knows, knows that this is it, this is the beginning of the rest of their lives, __together__.  
  
Dean kisses the palm of Seth’s hand, smooths his hand down Seth’s arm. “C’mon, let’s go sleep.” He’s tired, exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, and all he wants to do right now is crawl into bed with Seth beside him.  
  
They can’t go back, can’t pretend like the past didn’t happen, because it did, it did, but what they can do is move on, move forward, together, the way they always should have been.  
  
Seth rises from the sofa, fingers laced with Dean’s, and pulls him up the stairs.


End file.
